


Vanilla

by TheVeryLastValkyrie



Series: And They Fell Like Dominoes [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Drabble Collection, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 22:49:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4197999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVeryLastValkyrie/pseuds/TheVeryLastValkyrie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of a filthy rich boy and a clever dick girl at one of the world's most prestigious universities; of cheap wine and red plush; of betrayal, and bad blood, and her reading glasses. This time, the past is in the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vanilla

**Author's Note:**

> Migrated from my Tumblr. Here be F words, and a lot of other words besides.

Thomas asked in the conservatory. He sat down beside her when she was wearing a slinky pink thing with a tie waist, living out some form of _Camomile Lawn_ fantasy. She’d stretched her legs out on the sunburned cream upholstery, and she was sweating slightly, and the green grass of his summer house seemed to reach all the way to the horizon. She knew the sea was beyond it, she could smell it. She could taste it. It dried out her lips.

Thomas, in his patrician pink shirt, with his sweet, wide mouth, slid his hand over the lightly toasted hummock of her knee. He assumed capitulation. He thought she would melt, lick strawberry juice off the inside of his mouth and let him be the golden boy all over her.

“I don’t want you,” she said, articulating so he would understand.

Thomas demanded by the fountain. He dipped a long finger – they both had long fingers, those boys, a genetic gift from their piano-playing mother – into the water, tasting chalky and looking milky from where it flowed over the porous rock. He ran that finger around her lips, over the salt-stained pink puffiness. He forced that finger between her teeth, and she wondered how deep he would go, whether he would try to choke her with it.

Thomas, who always got what he wanted, wiped himself off on that silky pink dress, obscenely open, obscenely blotched. He chose his brother’s bed. He chose his brother’s girlfriend, who stared at the ceiling over his shoulder with the hard green eyes of a stained glass Madonna.

“I just don’t fancy Cornwall,” Annie says, lifting one shoulder, not looking to see.

She won’t tell him. She won’t tell him she doesn’t know why she doesn’t want to go, or can’t tell him why she doesn’t want to go, or let herself shake in just the right way to let him know just the reason why she doesn’t want to go. Ollie, darling, fucking, forever, is the victim here, sitting opposite her on the sunburned wooden bench with a gimlet glance and a gimlet in his hand. The ice is melting far too fast.

The ice is getting thinner.

“Where, then?”

“Anywhere.”

She slides her bare foot over the lightly toasted hummock of his knee. It’s been a year, and she’s still testing how far up he’ll let her go in broad daylight.


End file.
